Just when you breathed a sigh of relief that my last note was my last note...
I've had an interesting couple of weeks. I continued to experience lightheadedness and weakness, and over the weekend experienced a few near fainting spells and although I tried I was unable to manage even light housework. Each time the steroids gave me a boost for a day and then it was time for my chemo. This time, instead of getting stronger after the first few days after chemo, I got weaker and weaker, to the point where DH was carrying me to the bathroom. After a very bad Monday, we decided that a call to the Onco was needed.
From my sick bed, at 9 am I called, and spoke to the warm hearted receptionist who said she would get the onco to call back, but A&E was her advice. While we waited, our enthusiastic and friendly cleaner who had arrived earlier, chatted companiably with me and I had the courtesy to black out, briefly, while she was talking. She rushed off to call Dave who called the onco and asked how best to get me to hospital. The onco said definitely ambulance and about 15 minutes later, with the exciting whoop of a siren, the ambos arrived in my messy bedroom and me in my ugliest PJ's and not even bathed yet!
As my heart had been literally bouncing in my chest, they started sticking mirror tape wth press studs all over me, and plugged me into ribbons of wires and a big box. I was talking crazy, and very frightened. The huge male ambo called in the need to take me to hospital, and after some tests and obs, in short shift I was being wheeled out in a chair to the stretcher. As I was pushed into the kitchen my oldest PS arrived home from his early morning lecture at Uni." I'm alright, don't worry, just very weak" He just stood there in shock, while I was helped onto the stretcher and wheeled into the ambulance.
From then on everything was sort of upside down - the sensation you get when flat on a bed and everyone's above you. In the emergency room I was re-covered with press studs and hooked up to different wires, and I started beeping. My head was spinning and the now familiar tight band around my forehead was making me feel like the top of my head would lift off. I was in pain from my head to the tips of my toes, with the pain pushing through my bones. My muscles were burning, as if I'd run all the way to the hospital. Tsunami waves of hot flushes continued to wash through me. My distress was contrasted by my feeling of enormous relief when in walked Dr Alison ( the lady chemo doctor who was very gentle at inserting canula's), followed by my DH, who had arrived by car. They stood on either side of my cage bed and each held a hand. Dr Alison's calm manner settled both of us and we were able to tell her more sensibly what had happened. She asked questions and elicited detailed information all the while observing me closely. She got me to lift my arms, she tickled my aching feet, and asked me to push her. "I think it's just a reaction to the chemo, but I'm not happy with the dizzy spells, and headache, so just to be sure I'll order a brain scan. DH was hungry, and low blood sugar does not handle crises well in the long run, so I sent him off to get a meal (it was now after lunch). A canula was inserted, a drip of saline fluids put in and I was injected with an immunobooster.
DH returned, Dr Alison left to arrange the scan, and I dozed between hot flushes and waves of heel gripping, bone exploding, pain. A short while later, I was collected for the CT scan. That was over quite quickly and back in the emergency room booth, DH read National Geographic, and I dozed. After a while I said that" really, although much more extreme and longer lasting, this reaction of heart palpitations and fainting was very like my reactions in the past to codeine and voltaren". Dr Alison walked in, and I started to tell her, but she interrupted and said that she was very sorry, but the scan showed that there was a tumour in my brain. Wham! Big punch from left of field!. DH went very still and red. I said, " no, I was just thinking it was an allergic reaction". "No guys", firmly but kindly, and she held it up for us to see. After a minutes chat, she left to call the neurosurgeon and DH and I hugged and cried and then decided he should get home to the boys.
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